"Um," Ryan says. He didn't know that, no; there's a lot he didn't know about Shelby, obviously, at least some of which is becoming clearer as Alex strips her tank top off from behind, both of them up on their knees on the narrow bed in their dorm room like something out of America's Dirtiest NAT Girls. Shelby's bra is purple. Alex's is blue.

"It's true," Shelby confesses, eyes half-lidded as she tilts her head back onto Alex's shoulder, baring the long white column of her throat. "Red State girl, through and through."

Ryan nods. He didn't vote for Obama either, but now doesn't feel like the time to mention that. Now doesn't feel like the time to mention much of anything, honestly. He's never done anything like this before. Alex has her mouth on Shelby's collarbone, her fingers fussing through all that yellow hair; she glances up and gazes at him, steady: do you trust me now? Ryan blows a breath out, takes her lead.

Oh my god, of COURSE dumb Ryan didn't vote for Obama either, he is definitely a registered Republican. Shelby also has a zillion photos of herself in cameo holding a bunch of guns. Alex finds it oddly hot.

Lindsay checks the departures screen one more time (Flight 1162, Delayed, Boarding Time TBA), then wanders across the terminal and orders a latte from a woman wearing reindeer antlers, half of which she immediately spills down the front of her coat. She's dabbing ineffectually at her boobs with a wad of recycled paper napkins when she sees him standing in front of a D'Angelo's, duffel bag slung over one broad shoulder. His hair is longer now.

"Paul?" she blurts before she can stop herself. It feels like the dancing kids from Charlie Brown are stomping around behind her rib cage, tiny cartoon arms and legs flailing in every direction. "Paul Harrison?"

He hasn't aged well, Baby can't help but notice, sitting across from him at a coffee shop on 79th Street and desperately trying to think of something to say. His hairline is creeping backwards. There's a tired kind of dullness in his eyes. His face has taken on that slight puffiness men get at middle age, like none of them drink enough water, like all of them drank too much beer.

(The body, though--

Baby looks down at her dismal slice of pie, feels herself flushing as if she's seventeen again--

Two and a half feet of snow on the ground feels excessive even for Toronto in February, but it doesn't mean Boo doesn't still have to go out come morning. Andy kicks Sam under the covers until she feels him stir.

It's not a great pregnancy. Months one through three she's crouched over the toilet; month four all she does is sleep. Month six they tell her bedrest, and Andy bursts into tears right there in the doctor's office, thinks she'll never be able to stop.

ANGELICA (Eliiiiiiiza, the SCHUYler sisters) (this is me singing at you, get it, music note emoji music note emoji) (do actual emojis even work on LJ I'm honestly not sure), thaaaank you for this, bud.